Stronger than magic, p.21
Stronger Than Magic, page 21
Alys watched with sympathy as Lord Drake’s hips began to jerk and his handsome face flushed a mottled scarlet. Poor, poor man. Being the gentleman he was, he’d no doubt allow himself to be driven mad by the tickling before scratching himself down there in her presence.
Fortunately, or unfortunately, for Lord Drake, depending on how one viewed the matter, Hedley deemed his trousers dashing and then, with a propelling kick to his fashion idol’s groin, sprang up to straddle his shoulder. Ignoring his lordship’s obvious discomfort, he rapped his fist against his cheek-high collar, his intent expression bringing to mind a carpenter testing the soundness of a questionable wall.
“Stiff as iron,” he marveled. “And his points—” His admiration visibly rose to adoring new heights as he fingered the precisely starched triangular edges. “Sharp as daggers, see?” To prove his claim, he grabbed one of the corners and gave his now grimacing lordship a sharp jab in the cheek.
His grimace mutated into a look of surprise liberally mixed with pain. “What the h—” he ejected, his hand flying from his midsection to cup his abused face.
“Is something amiss, my lord?” Alys queried, her sweet tone belying her furious urge to throttle the hob.
Gingerly rubbing his cheek, he murmured, “I don’t know what’s come over me. I suddenly seem to be feeling-”
“Hedley!” Alys hissed, her outrage overriding her discretion as the hob grasped the other point and prepared to repeat his wicked little demonstration.
Drake frowned, his hand stilling on his cheek. “Hedley?”
“Badly. I said that you look as if you feel badly,” Alys fibbed, slanting the hob a threatening look. “Perhaps our walk has been too much exertion for you after so many days of being confined to the castle.”
Hedley smirked and inched the point nearer to his victim’s cheek, blatantly baiting her.
“Perhaps you are correct. I do find all this fresh air and exercise a bit—ah—fatiguing,” Drake admitted with a wan smile.
“In that case, we must return to the castle so you can rest.” The sooner she removed him from Hedley’s injurious presence, the better.
Her escort’s faint smile broadened into a cloying one. “You are most understanding, my dear Miss Faire,” he cooed, lifting her hand to press a kiss to her palm. As he drew his lips away, murmuring something about the incomparable benevolence of her heart, she saw Hedley’s knotty arm muscles flex, clearly signaling his intent to stab.
Tweaked beyond reason, she reflexively swatted at him. Smack!—
“Oww!” Drake howled as her hand connected not with Hedley, but with his already maltreated cheek. Clunk! Tinkle! His quizzing glass went flying from his face, shattering as it dashed upon the cobblestones at their feet.
From the walkway below, she heard a chortle. “Na-ha! Missed me!” But she was too appalled by her own reckless actions to give the troublesome little man the kick he so richly deserved. Still sniggering, he disappeared.
Gazing numbly up at Drake, who was clutching his cheek and eyeing her with scowling resentment, she stammered, “M-my lord. I’m—”
“What the devil is going on here?” interrupted a tight, furious voice that Alys knew oh-so-well.
Her mind frantically groping for an explanation, she bit her lip and reluctantly turned to face Lucian. He looked as incensed as he sounded, glaring from her to Drake, and then back again, as if trying to decide which one to throttle. “I—I—” she sputtered. Oh, perfect! Her mind was blank.
“She slapped me,” Lord Drake supplied, fixing her with an accusing stare.
Lucian’s stormy gaze shifted from her to Drake, his glittering eyes narrowing as he focused on his face. “So I saw,” he ground out. “What I want to know is why.”
So ominous were both his tone and demeanor that Alys thanked God that they weren’t directed at her. At least not yet, she reminded herself, her flesh prickling as she ventured another glance at Lucian’s grim face. No doubt all that raw anger would be redirected at her the instant her escort reported her shocking behavior. Heaving an inaudible sigh, she miserably shifted her gaze to Lord Drake, waiting for him to utter his condemnation.
Unlike herself, he was holding up admirably beneath Lucian’s intimidating regard, a truly astonishing phenomenon given his foppish appearance and mien. Indeed, he seemed utterly composed as he said, “I can assure you, Thistlewood, that I did nothing whatsoever to offend the gel. Quite the contrary. I was merely expressing my admiration for her sweet nature when she slapped me.”
Lucian stared at him for another unnerving moment, then slowly dragged his gaze over to Alys to impale her with his displeasure. “Is what he says true?” he growled.
Alys opened and closed her mouth soundlessly several times before she finally managed to croak, “Yes.”
“And he in no way insulted or offended you?”
“N-no.”
His eyes were like burning slits now, searing hers with his ire. For several heart-racing beats he stared at her, then his lips flattened into a hard, tight line and he commanded, “Apologize to Lord Drake this instant.”
Alys swallowed so hard, she was certain that everyone within a ten-mile radius heard her gulp. Searching her numb mind for a plausible way to excuse her actions, she turned her gaze to the equally stony-faced Lord Drake, mumbling, “I truly am sorry, my lord. I-I can assure you that it was a complete accident. I—” Irrationally the vision of him wiggling beneath Hedley’s torment popped into her mind. With it came inspiration. Her faltering voice instantly regaining its strength, she finished, “I was simply trying to swat a spider from your hair when you moved, making me slap you instead.”
Drake’s eyes widened and his face blanched to an odd, ashy color. “Spider, you say?”
She nodded. “A fat brown one, about, oh”—she indicated a length of about an inch and a half between her index finger and thumb—“this big.”
“That big, eh?” His shoulders began to twitch and when he smoothed the front of his already immaculate coat, she noted that his hands trembled. “Did you—uh— did you by any c-chance get it?”
“I believe so,” she replied, watching with dismay as he convulsively poked his sleeve, then swatted his side.
“Y-You believe so, but y-y-you’re not”—he clawed at his midsection—“absolutely certain?”
“As certain as I can be,” Alys assured him, patting his arm in a feeble attempt to calm him.
He yelped and batted her away, clearly so unnerved by her story that he’d mistaken her hand for the spider in question.
“Good heavens! Are you quite all right, Lord
Drake?” This was from Diana, who was just joining them.
“Spiders. Must have walked through a whole bloody nest of them,” he muttered, his body jerking in earnest at that notion. “Thought I felt something crawling on me earlier, but I—” His eyes bulged as he slapped at an imaginary spider on his neck. “I—oh!” Panting with terror, he more shrieked than said, “Please excuse me!” Then went dashing off toward the front of the castle as if pursued by a whole fiendish legion of the creatures.
Alys started after him, horrified by the panic her tale had wrought, but Lucian grasped her arm, stopping her. Capturing her rueful gaze with his darkly flickering one, he gritted out, “Miss Ramsey. Would you please be so kind as to follow Lord Drake and make certain that he gets back to the castle safely? My ward and I have something pressing we must discuss.”
“But of course,” Diana replied, peering curiously from guardian to ward, before hurrying after Drake. When she was well out of sight, Lucian rounded on Alys.
“What the hell kind of game are you playing?” he spat, his hands punishing as he grasped her upper arms and gave her a savage shake.
She stared at him wordlessly, too shocked by the intensity of his fury to respond.
Clearly he didn’t expect or even particularly want a response, for he continued with barely a pause. “I knew you were a stubborn, wayward little hellion, but never— ever!—did I credit you with being cruel.”
“Cruel?” she exclaimed, flabbergasted by his accusation.
“What the hell would you call what you just did to a man whom you damn well know is terrified of spiders?” He didn’t utter the words, he snarled them.
Alys shook her head once. “But I didn’t know! How could I?”
“Like hell, you didn’t. In case you’ve forgotten, I was in the coach when Charlotte went over the list of guests. And I distinctly remember her gossiping at length about how an almost fatal bite as a youth has left Drake deathly afraid of spiders.”
Alys probed her mind, desperately trying to recall hearing such a thing. But she drew a blank. She’d been so preoccupied with worrying over the exclusion of Reina Castell from the list of female guests that she’d been completely deaf to what was said about the male ones. Feeling as wretched as if she were confessing to murder, she haltingly admitted to her inattentiveness.
Snorting his disgust, Lucian released her arms and pushed her away, the force of his thrust almost toppling her backward. “Of course. How very stupid of me. I should have remembered that woolgathering heads your regrettably long list of faults.” He paused a beat to rake her with his scornful gaze, then looked away, heaving what sounded like a sigh of defeat.
“Whatever am I to do with you, Alys?” he continued, rubbing at his temples as if just the thought of her made his head ache. “No man in his right mind is going to marry you. Certainly not the sort your brother would have deemed suitable. As for me being stuck with you indefinitely, well, that is a notion too hideous to be entertained.”
That he thought so poorly of her dealt Alys’s heart a deep, mortal blow. While she knew that he would never love her as a man did a woman, she’d hoped that he might at least come to regard her as a friend. Indeed, she’d made every effort to build such rapport between them. And by the way he’d responded, smiling at her quips and readily accepting her invitations to partner her at cards, she’d thought herself successful. Apparently she’d been wrong.
It was her turn to sigh. As with everything else involving Lucian, it seemed that she’d somehow muddled her attempts to gain his friendship. Feeling like the world’s biggest failure and at a loss as to how to turn herself around, she whispered the only thing she could think to say, “Please Lucian. Please believe me when I say that I am truly sorry about Lord Drake.”
“Sorry?” he scoffed, his face reflecting the contempt in his voice. “There are some instances when merely saying you’re sorry is inadequate, and I’m very much afraid that this might well be one of them. It is entirely possible that Drake is even now regaling our guests with tales of your forward conduct, in which case you shall undoubtedly be ruined by the time we return to the castle.”
“But that’s ridiculous!” she exclaimed, stunned by his words. “I did nothing but chase a spider from his lordship’s hair!”
“Swatting insects from a suitor is hardly the act of a well-bred miss,” he pointed out dryly. “One which could easily get that same miss branded as the worst kind of romp. As a man of the world, Drake knows this, just as he knows that polite society is unlikely to countenance a miss reputed as being such. Therefore, he might label you a romp in hopes that you will be shunned by the ton, thus rendering you powerless to pass gossip about his cowardice.”
Alys hung her head, too miserable to respond. She’d really made a mess of things this time. If she were banished from society, then her opportunities to thrust Diana into Lucian’s company would be reduced to few or none. Then how would she ever get them together?
Fumbling for a way to salvage the potentially disastrous situation, she cast him a repentant look and suggested, “What if I were to assure him of my silence on this matter? Surely he could bear me no malice then?”
“Couldn’t he?” Lucian emitted a disdainful noise and crossed his arms over his chest, staring at her as if she’d just said the stupidest thing in the world. “Do you truly expect to appease him by drudging up what was bound to be one of the most humiliating episodes of his life, and swearing secrecy to his shame?” He shook his head as if overwhelmed by incredulity. “If so, then we must add dull-witted to your rapidly expanding list of faults.”
Dull-witted, indeed! Alys opened her mouth to protest his rude assessment, but before she could say anything, he continued, “Don’t you see that by acknowledging his shame, you will also be conceding your own understanding of how injurious your information might be? A man like Drake is bound to see that as a threat, no matter how pretty your apology. And he’ll ruin you rather than be at the mercy of your discretion.”
He seemed about to add something else, then stopped short, his eyes narrowing as if struck by a new thought. Staring at her in a way that made her uncomfortably certain that he could see all the way into her soul, he finished, “But then, perhaps you’ve already ascertained all that yourself.”
“W-what?” she sputtered, taken aback by his odd twist of reason.
He chuckled, but in a dry, humorless way. “Come, come now, Alys. Don’t insult my intelligence by playing coy with me. I’m beginning to see quite clearly now what you’re about.”
Alys gaped at him, genuinely baffled. “Excuse me?”
“Lest you’ve forgotten, you were more than a little vocal in your objections to marriage when we discussed the matter.”
“It wasn’t the notion of marriage I found disagreeable, but your presumptuous list of bachelors.” She shook her head, her bewilderment deepening. “However, even if it were marriage to which I objected, I fail to see what it would have to do with any of this.”
“What indeed?” He arched one eyebrow in sardonic query. “Tell me, my dear Miss Faire. What are the chances of a ruined young lady receiving an offer?”
The scandalous intimation of that question threw her completely off balance. “You honestly believe that I would ruin myself to escape marriage?” she gasped. “Why that’s”—she flung her hands up—“that’s preposterous!”
“Is it? First you chase off Atwood by engaging in a scuffle with a chimney sweep, now you scare Drake off with tales of rampaging spiders. What have you planned for suitor number three? A lit match to the boot, or a handful of leeches in his trousers?”
Alys snorted her exasperation. “Of course not. And you know perfectly well that I didn’t deliberately discourage either of those other two gentlemen. Both incidents were simply the result of unfortunate— misunderstandings.”
His lips curled into a tight sneer. “It seems to me, my dear, that you are particularly prone to being misunderstood, especially by bachelors of my choosing.”
She returned his arrogant smirk in kind, embellishing it with a haughty sniff. “Then perhaps, my lord, you should stop choosing. I’ve already informed you that I shall select my own husband.”
“Then I suggest that you get busy selecting.” He more spat than said the words. “For be warned, my dear ward: you shall be married before the end of the season, even if I have to pay some penniless old roué to take you off my hands. I shall not be saddled with you for a single day longer than necessary, do you understand? I shan’t!” He practically shouted that last sentence.
The vehemence of his cruel proclamation struck hard at the core of her being, making her yearn to scream her fury at the resulting agony. She’d been trying to tell herself that his hatefulness stemmed from his anger over Drake. But it was clear she’d been wrong, wretchedly so. He despised her, profoundly and undeniably despised her. How else could he speak to her so?
For a long moment she stood frozen by emotion; pain exploding into rage, her rage escalating into an almost mad desire to hurt him as badly as he’d just hurt her. But, of course, doing so was impossible. For how did one strike at the heart of a man who had no heart to wound?
Lowering her lashes to hide her tears, she murmured with as much dignity as she could muster, “I understand perfectly, Lord Thistlewood. Please be assured that I shall find a way to relieve you of my odious presence as soon as possible, even if I must run away and live on the streets to do so. For despite your low opinion of me, I have much too much pride to stay where I’m not wanted.” With that, she picked up her skirts and bolted off down the fairway, her hurt dissolving into wrenching sobs as she ran.
Chapter 13
“Alys,” Lucian whispered, offering his turned-up palm in a gesture of contrite appeasement. But it was too late. She had already stumbled up the embankment and was rapidly moving out of sight. Finger by finger he slowly curled his hand into a fist, dropping it to his side when it was a taut, trembling ball.
Dear God. What is happening to me? he agonized, tipping his head back to stare at the infinite smear of blue above. Why am I being tormented with these strange and unwelcome feelings? One minute they were stunning him with their rawness, the next they confused him with their conflicting nature. Always, their intensity made him long to fall to his knees, screaming for deliverance from their terrifying grip.
He closed his eyes and gave his head a hard shake, as if by doing so he could jolt his emotional equilibrium back into balance. Worse of all, these damnable feelings compelled him to behave in irrational, often reckless ways that bewildered and distressed him. Which is exactly what had just happened with Alys.
Never in his life had he experienced such mindless rage as he had when he saw her slap Drake. Indeed, he’d been so besieged with protective instincts that it had taken every last ounce of his self-control not to throttle the man first and ask questions later.
Why? He clenched his fists tighter. Why had he, who was known far and wide for his unflappable reserve, almost resorted to violence over a presumed slight to a woman he didn’t even like? It wasn’t as if he were gallant by nature. To him, gallantry was a sentiment best left to poets and fools, especially when it involved a scuffle over a woman. For aside from his late mother and, of course, Lottie, he could think of no woman with honor worth defending.
